


words make a world of their own

by blehgah



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, First Time, M/M, ish???, you know the drill ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 09:41:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12056307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blehgah/pseuds/blehgah
Summary: Things never stay the same, but that isn't always a bad thing.





	words make a world of their own

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mazurka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mazurka/gifts).



> i just want to give a shoutout to the admin who managed this fic exchange! it was fun to give and fulfill prompts for my fave ship ❤
> 
> this jumps around a lot and i apologize for any inaccuracies, but i hope y'all can enjoy anyway!
> 
> [the inspiration](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hvSd_TCXnr0) for the fic title

Jihoon is a winter child; when he says he prefers cold weather, he sometimes thinks he must be biased. But summertime is so hot, so sticky. He hates it when the backs of his thighs stick to plastic chairs and it’s a goddamn nightmare to stand up and feel his skin start to peel off.

Summertime was comeback time. It was… a slightly difficult time. One of their precious members was sick; they even had to promote without him. Perhaps the strangest thing about it was how noticeable his absence was. In a group of thirteen, Jihoon didn’t think it was possible for one person to leave such a big hole in their group.

They didn’t have a single win for that comeback. But that thought was easily forgotten to make room for their upcoming tour.

Travelling from country to country was an eye-opener for Jihoon. He has yet to think of any words to describe what it felt like to stand in a foreign stadium and hear fans shouting his name and his lyrics with a rhythm lilted by their accents.

He can’t even begin to attempt putting words to the experience, but that’s why Highlight was made.

With winter comes shorter days and colder nights. Winter means bundling up and staying indoors all day _without_ being judged for it. Winter means his birthday, and most importantly, this winter brings a new comeback.

This album is… different. It’s still a work in progress.

He’s always been the kind of person to live inside his own head. The problem with that is that it sometimes makes it difficult to interact with outside people.

He and Seungcheol have been friends for a long time—a long, _long_ time. About a third of their lives. They’ve been through several stages of their lives together and have witnessed many changes in each other. They’ve had to learn how to be in each other’s space for so much of the day for so many days in a week.

They were… close. Then they were not so close. But it’s all a learning process, Jihoon has found—in fact, he’s still in the fucking middle of it all.

“I don’t have any problems hanging out with you,” Jihoon says to Jeonghan one day. He’s sprawled out on his chair in his studio and his head is angled towards the ceiling. “I probably, like—I mean, I gotta spend just as much time with you as I do with him.”

Jihoon can’t see Jeonghan, but it’s likely the guy is mimicking his relaxed position on the studio bench.

“No,” Jeonghan replies immediately, “you don’t. I’m sure you wish you did—”

Jihoon rolls his eyes.

“—but you don’t. You know you practically live here?”

Jihoon rolls his eyes again. He groans and sighs and whines and eventually, he covers his eyes with one hand.

“Yes, I know; I live here. I never see the light of day. I’m some gremlin who stays cooped up in his studio for days on end and has forgotten what the sun looks like,” Jihoon says, his voice soaked and dripping with sarcasm. He’s a little surprised his words retain their shape under the weight of his sarcasm.

“Listen, I know you’re being sarcastic,” Jeonghan replies with a similar degree of dryness, “but everything you’re saying is true and then some.”

Jihoon sits up. Jeonghan shoots him a look and lifts an eyebrow.

Jihoon may be pouting a little. He can tell by the way Jeonghan’s expression has softened, like he’s looking at a small child who needs a hug.

Honestly, if Jeonghan is gonna offer a hug, Jihoon might not have it in himself to say no.

Jeonghan opens his arms and smiles, so disarming and gooey-sweet. At this point, Jihoon is beyond the theatrics of pretending he’s too stoic for that damn hug. No one’s looking. No one’s counting.

The two steps between his chair and Jeonghan are floppy, but Jihoon makes it in one piece. He seats himself in the space between Jeonghan’s legs and feels his body become a chinrest.

“The difference between spending time with him and spending time with me is that you’re almost always working when you’re with him,” Jeonghan says. His voice rumbles through Jihoon’s back and chest, not unlike a massage chair. “You probably associate him with work, which, you know—is your biggest source of stress.”

“How do you know that _he_ isn’t my biggest source of stress?”

Jeonghan snorts. “You love him,” Jeonghan says. It’s way too blunt and honest for the confines of this studio.

Jihoon winces, wishing there had been at least a couple of frills to that statement to soften the blow.

When Jihoon doesn’t say anything, Jeonghan chuckles. He squeezes Jihoon’s middle and says, “Come on. I mean, if you guys are gonna spend every moment spent together _working,_ you should at least try to make it a painless experience.”

Jeonghan squeezes Jihoon again. His pout must be getting worse.

“So what?” Jihoon snaps. “What do you think I should do?”

Jeonghan shushes him and pets his hair a little. As much as Jihoon doesn’t want to admit it, the little gestures are effective: the tension in his shoulders dissipates immediately.

“I know it sounds counter-productive to suggest something that’s been bothering you,” Jeonghan replies, “but hear me out.”

Jihoon huffs. “I’m listening,” he grunts, his foot tapping impatiently against the floor.

“Go out with him more.”

At first, Jeonghan’s choice of phrasing sends chills down Jihoon’s spine. It evokes a weird combination of feelings in his stomach: apprehension, aversion, and an all-too familiar sense of craving.

He misses what he and Seungcheol used to be; he misses that ease they used to have. Back then, he didn’t second-guess his words or actions at the rate he does now. Back then, Seungcheol didn’t treat him like a ticking time bomb. In fact, it was the opposite, and Jihoon can still remember the way Seungcheol’s arms felt around his waist and the weight of Seungcheol’s body stretched out over his own.

That’s where it starts to get a little weird. But he’s never been sure about why it’s weird. Surely, the reason is that boys don’t get close like they did—but if they didn’t, then why had it felt so right?

Maybe he misses it more than he’s willing to admit. That sounds about right, and he doesn’t want to linger on it any longer.

“Spend time with him outside of work. And I don’t just mean for the dinner your body needed like three hours ago,” Jeonghan continues. “I know comeback is soon, but you guys are both starting to get on my nerves—”

Jeonghan stops himself there. Jihoon must be giving himself away, suddenly perking up at the mere mention of Seungcheol possibly feeling the same way Jihoon does.

Well, relationships aren’t a one-way street, after all, but Jihoon still wants that validation like anyone else.

“Point is,” Jeonghan says firmly, “this is a foolproof plan and you’ll thank me later.”

For the umpteenth time that night, Jihoon rolls his eyes.

“Fine,” Jihoon grouses.

 

* * *

 

They skip out on a coffee date. It’s a fucking terrible idea for a couple reasons, but the main ones are 1. they drink so much damn coffee with each other when they work, and 2. it’s way too cliché. They’ll save the coffee dates for future Younghee broadcasts or whatever the fuck.

They go for lunch instead. Mingyu recommends this bistro in a part of the city that he insists _isn’t_ hipster, but Seungcheol and Jihoon know better than that. His enthusiasm about the way the sunlight hits the decor just right was what sold them. Probably. Mingyu is a puppy with charms that can’t be resisted.

Seungcheol squints ahead, using a hand as a flimsy shield against said sunlight as they walk. “We should really go outside more, huh,” he mutters.

Jihoon doesn’t realize he’s doing the same thing until he looks up at Seungcheol and finds Seungcheol’s posture is a mirror of his own.

“Don’t you know that the sun is a deadly laser?” Jihoon counters. “We’re just preserving our fair skin.”

When Seungcheol snorts in response, Jihoon is surprised his entire brain doesn’t come right out of his nose.

They make it to the restaurant without much fuss. Their waiter leads them to a corner booth that’s far enough from the sun that they can fully open their eyes but close enough that they can feel the warmth shimmy over their skin.

Seungcheol surveys the room. His head reminds Jihoon of a camera rotating on a mount.

When Seungcheol turns back around to face Jihoon, the sudden intimacy of holding his gaze is a little too much; Jihoon ends up looking out at the street, over at the box of chopsticks, down at his menu.

For a couple of painful moments, the only sound Jihoon’s brain registers is the music playing in the restaurant. It’s a Maroon 5 song; he can recognize the melody and the singer’s voice, but the foreign words do nothing to help his scrambled brain. He tries to focus on the menu items before him, but the characters swim and mock him and oh god five whole minutes of silence have passed, haven’t they?

Eventually, their waiter comes by and drops off a teapot and cups. He asks if they’re ready to order.

With some apprehension, Jihoon glances up at Seungcheol. Their eyes meet.

The world does not explode.

“We could use a couple more minutes, thanks,” Seungcheol says, waving him off. The waiter nods and walks away.

Jihoon looks up at Seungcheol again and finds him smiling.

“What do you feel like?” Seungcheol asks. It’s kind of annoying how… normal he is.

Jihoon really does need to get out more, doesn’t he.

“Dunno,” he says quietly.

Seungcheol hums and looks down at his menu again. “It’s getting cold, so I think I’m gonna have something warm,” he says. He’s been flipping two pages back and forth and that, too, is kind of annoying. It’s likely Jihoon finds the whole situation annoying because… well. He’s a nervous, irritable wreck, he supposes.

He takes a couple deep breaths and nods to himself.

They end up ordering the same thing, which is also kind of weird but also kinda funny.

Seungcheol pours them both tea before sitting back with his cup. His eyes trail up and down Jihoon’s person, lazy and without a hint of shame. The beginnings of a contemplative look curl the corners of his eyes and his lips, but then he hides his expression behind his cup and meets Jihoon’s gaze.

Jihoon is staring, isn’t he?

It gets weird again. The radio has moved past Maroon 5 and now another American singer is belting her heart out. Things are clearer now, though; Jihoon’s starting to gather his wits and reorganize them into their little compartments in his brain.

Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all, being away from work for a little bit. It’s becoming an exercise in learning how to function outside of work, small gesture that it is.

Jihoon looks up again and finds Seungcheol’s eyes curved with a true, genuine smile.

This time, his stomach feels soothed instead of agitated. He’s sure conditions can only improve once he gets some food into play as well.

 

It’s a little weird to get into conversation—most of Jihoon’s recent experiences have been shared _with_ Seungcheol, so he has no interesting stories to tell.

When the food arrives, Seungcheol thanks the waiter and picks up his chopsticks. Before he digs in, though, he catches Jihoon’s eye.

“This has gotta be the first time this week you haven’t had delivery,” he says, his lips curled in a half-smirk.

“Hey—”

Seungcheol plows on. “It’s always a fucking nightmare when we get the bill, but then when the food arrives, we always stop caring, don’t we?” He laughs. “At least this time there’ll be witnesses around to shame us into considering our life choices or something. You know, for next time.”

Jihoon blinks. Then he scoffs, rolls his eyes, the whole shebang. “You say that like we have any other options,” he says. “What are we gonna do, huh? Cook?”

Seungcheol grins. “We could always beg staff to bring us real food,” he says. The curl of his mouth suggests no sincerity at all.

“Hey, if we order from a place called Mom’s Kitchen, then it’s gotta be actual food. Don’t count out grease, hyung. That’s gotta have at least _some_ nutritional value.”

“Maybe it does—once you’ve eaten as much of it as you have.”

Jihoon waves a hand. “I can’t say you’re wrong there.”

They do eventually get to eating. There are a few grains of rice thrown about and a few chili flakes scattered around the table in the process of their animated conversation, but they do eat, and it’s similar to how it feels back at the dorm, back at the studio. At the same time, it’s different: they’ve created their own little world where work has taken the backseat and they’re now, finally, firmly planted outside of it.

Jihoon keeps thinking about it and he knows it, but maybe the hyperawareness is a step in the right direction.

Seungcheol grins at him, mouth stained black with sauce, and the answering flutter in Jihoon’s stomach is a strong enough reminder that they are, indeed, friends in the end.

It’s comforting.

 

* * *

 

Chuseok rolls around. It’s strange to be without the members, even for a short period of time. This is meant to be a break period—he’s meant to recharge and refresh his brain while he’s at home with his family.

All this is turning out to be is… lonely. Things are too quiet and his brain is too loud.

Jihoon thinks about what it’d be like to be without his members, for work-related reasons and also for non-work-related reasons. He thinks about why that might happen, irrational as it may be, unlikely as it may be, impossible as he wants it to be. He thinks about it because he’s alone and his mind is a strange place when the voice of his anxiety gets too loud and the future transforms into some monstrous creature hiding under his bed, lurking, waiting.

He brings something back with him he wishes didn’t even exist, but there’s beauty in the rawness of human emotion, he thinks. Probably.

It’d be nice if that were the reason he held onto this song, but it’s more likely that he just wants to be heard—just as the lyrics say—that he wants to communicate this feeling and be understood.

Seungkwan and Seokmin tear up a little when they read the first draft of the lyrics. Even Jeonghan’s expression looks a little watery.

Hopefully he’s been heard loud and clear.

 

He brings something different with him when they work on the mixed unit song. He’s working with Seungcheol on this one, and that’s familiar in a mostly comfortable sort of way.

The key to writing lyrics, he’s found, is maintaining a level of relatability. There are plenty of scenes most people associate with certain emotions, thanks to the power of the media. Jihoon contributes to that in his own way. He draws from personal experiences and smooths them out into vague yet familiar sensations he hopes his listeners can relate to.

The thing about having spent so much time with Seungcheol is that they’ve shared a lot of experiences together. It was inevitable that their memories together, their shared feelings, would have ended up in Jihoon’s lyrics.

When the mixed unit shows up to go over lyrics and discuss the cohesion of the song, Jihoon avoids Seungcheol’s gaze. Jeonghan sits between them at the table and he seems blissfully unaware of their tension.

“Seungcheol-ah, this line—” Jeonghan gestures with his hands and points to the draft of Seungcheol’s rap. “—‘Let’s talk next time’. It seems like, you know—a bit of hope despite everything that’s happened.”

Seungcheol twiddles his thumbs under the table. “Yeah, that was the point,” he says haltingly. “After all, leaving things as they were—wasn’t ideal.”

Jeonghan nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, I think it’s really poignant!”

Junhui meets Jeonghan’s eye across the table. “I think it’s probably the only thing hinting towards making up,” he comments.

“Only if they do end up talking,” Seungkwan says. His eyes are calmly drifting between Seungcheol and Jihoon, and his mouth is an expressionless line. “Which isn’t mentioned anywhere else.”

Jihoon shrugs. “It’s supposed to be a ballad,” he says. “You know, sad and shit.”

Wonwoo chuckles. “Well, it’s certainly sad,” he says. He looks at Seungkwan from across the table, and Seungkwan is looking over at Jihoon. Jihoon stares at the pen in his fingers.

Some of them seem to be in on it—the sentiments of the song seem to hit a little too close to home. But Jihoon works hard on avoiding Seungcheol’s gaze—not that Seungcheol’s trying very hard to look at him, either.

Jihoon doesn’t think they’ll ever get around to performing this live.

This is going to be an interesting comeback.

 

* * *

 

After some sleepless nights, the Going Seventeen showcase comes. There isn’t snow on the ground yet, but stores are decked from top to bottom in reds and greens and whitish golds. Days are shorter and nights are longer, though the soft fairy lights strung through the bare trees keep the nights somewhere in the land of living.

They’ve officially come back.

It’s only been about four months since they’ve met with their homebase fans, and yet Jihoon feels like he can hardly keep his balance on stage. The lights feel a little too bright and the screams from the crowd seem a little too loud.

Seungkwan and Soonyoung are doing their usual thing, but even they seem a little subdued. Eventually, Seokmin cries for real and he’s in front of hundreds and hundreds of people.

It all seems so lively considering the cold lifelessness the season brings. Jihoon isn’t sure how he feels, and even by the end of it, he doesn’t think he’s made up his mind.

 

When BOOM BOOM wins for the first time, it’s different from their first win with Pretty U. The biggest difference is the way it settles in Jihoon’s stomach: it’s no longer a sickening concoction of unexpected emotion. Relief is still the most prevalent sensation— _I did not fail you this time, my precious members_ —but it lights him up instead of dragging down the weight of his accumulated worry over his head.

The key to keeping his cool this time is probably the careful degree of detachment he’s been honing over the past months. It’s the only way he’s been able to process literally everything that’s come with his career, from the highest highs experienced from different corners of the pacific ocean to the lowest lows in the vast cavern of his irrational brain.

Seungkwan is the only one who cries actual tears, but Seungcheol’s eyes get a little watery. Under the bright stage lights, it’s hard to miss. It doesn’t help that Jihoon has memorized every line and fold on Seungcheol’s face; he recognizes the rhythm of Seungcheol’s blinking and the way he looks up at the lights to keep the tears from overflowing.

He looks fucking ridiculous. Jihoon grins. Jihoon grins and he allows it and it feels good, dammit. It feels good to win and to have tangible proof that their fans are, in fact, their fans, that they liked this song despite the change in style, and…

Jihoon wanders off to the back of the group as Soonyoung yelps and shrieks at the crowd. Jeonghan joins him and they wave enthusiastically to their fans. It’ll be fine if Jihoon stays out of the spotlight; he hasn’t got the head about him to be much entertainment, anyway.

He’s too distracted by his own thoughts when it happens: he catches a glimpse of Mingyu’s mischievous smile, then Seungcheol’s delighted grin, and then he’s being pulled along the stage. Seungcheol follows behind on Jihoon’s heels, his hands a light and fleeting pressure over Jihoon’s shoulders.

Then Jihoon’s being pulled up against Seungcheol’s chest, right in front of god and everybody. Jihoon’s shoulder makes contact with Seungcheol’s body and Jihoon can’t help but laugh, can’t help the surprised squeak that shimmies out of his throat.

It only takes a split second for the kiss to happen. It’s followed by another, then another, and it’s only by Soonyoung that Jihoon gets relief. He glances over at Seungcheol, but he can’t hold Seungcheol’s gaze.

Jihoon’s heart beats furiously and thunderously in his ears. It drums over the crowd’s cheers, over the disjointed attempts his members make at singing their song.

They’ve had enough “public displays of affection”—and he uses that term very loosely—that Jihoon would have expected to be used to it by now, but he’s not. It’s new every time. It’s confusing every time. He’s always just so baffled by the way Seungcheol is so casual about it, so eager and warm.

Boys don’t kiss. But then again, his members have certainly been showing him that maybe that’s not reality after all.

Seungcheol has never had a problem with it, and maybe that means there aren’t actually any problems with it.

That’s a weird thought. Seungcheol with boys, their boys, other boys, and then with Jihoon—that’s too much right now. The very idea breaks into chunks and floats down his head to mix with the rest of the tempestuous thoughts racing through his mind.

Jihoon walks behind the group again, clutching his microphone in his hand like a lifeline, his brain swirling with so many thoughts and sensations all at once. The flashing lights and the thrumming noise tops it all off, chasing any possibility for coherent thought out of his skull.

The one recurring thing out of the mess of his mind is the warm press of Seungcheol’s kiss against the top of his head.

 

* * *

 

Promotions are always a turbulent time. No one gets enough sleep and that messes with people’s heads.

Jihoon ends up in the kitchen for the twelfth time that day at around 1am—though maybe his counter resets after midnight? Anyway, he’s in there, he’s hungry, and he needs to be out of the dorm by 7am so they can arrive at Show Champ on time. He’s hankering for some instant noodles and he’s sure it’ll take like half an hour to eat, tops. That leaves him with five and a half hours of sleep, which is plenty.

He’d been planning all of this during the journey from his room to the kitchen. He’s never claimed to be good at math but food time management is different and essential to everyday living.

When he gets there, he finds Seungcheol asleep at the table with his laptop by his head. His first instinct is to ignore Seungcheol and head straight to the shelf with his favourite cup noodles, but soft music snags his attention before he can make it to his destination.

It’s the demo for one of Jihoon’s ballads. This version only has Jihoon on the track since it’s still a work in progress.

Jihoon slows his steps towards the table. From this distance, he can see the display on Seungcheol’s laptop, and he can see that the song is on loop.

Seungcheol snuffles a bit. Jihoon takes another step closer.

His chest aches a little. He’s not entirely sure what to do—at first, his plan was to turn off the music and maybe try to convince Seungcheol to go to bed. But he doesn’t want to do that anymore. He doesn’t want to interrupt this—whatever this is.

He could check how many times it’s been played, maybe gauge how long Seungcheol has been sleeping, but as time passes, as the seconds tick by, Jihoon feels less and less inclined to disturb this tableau.

In the end, Jihoon skips out on the food and goes to bed with his head in the clouds, wondering what possessed Seungcheol to put that song on repeat and why that made Jihoon’s chest feel so light.

 

* * *

 

BOOM BOOM promotions end on a high note. They attend various award ceremonies and earn a few awards themselves. They work on collaborations and covers and welcome the new year with a running start. It is 2017, after all; it is their year.

Planning their big fan meeting in February goes well. It’s ‘Alice in Wonderland’- themed, and they get to handle little white rabbits. Jihoon isn’t sure if the group is supposed to be Alice or if their fans are supposed to be Alice, but he supposes that it doesn’t matter.

It’s overwhelming to see so many of their fans in one place. And it’s a little weird: this isn’t a concert, where the focus is their music. It’s more than a showcase for their music. They’re having fun with their fans, too, and Jihoon has to be entertaining.

His members make it easy, certainly, but it’s still a little nerve-wracking. He wonders if it’ll be like this forever.

 

They’re playing a guessing game and there is a shit ton of fanservice involved, but it’s no colossal task to give something as minor as skinship to their fans considering their fans support their livelihood.

Seungcheol is wearing a Totoro-themed blindfold and Soonyoung’s waving around a cucumber between tongs. It’s cute—Seungcheol looks comfortable in that big pullover despite the makeup on his face. If it weren’t for that, he would look like he’s back in the practice room preparing for this very moment.

This object is much more… phallic than the last couple of things up for identification. Maybe that’s why the fans are screaming so loud—comparable to the roar of Jihoon’s heartbeat in his chest.

It’s fucking crazy how much that cucumber looks like a dick and it’s even crazier that Seungcheol is just rubbing his mouth all over it. From this angle, it’s hard to tell that the object is a cucumber at all: the lighting isn’t doing it many favours. The horror-themed soundtrack playing in the background throws the whole scene into a weird place.

Still, Jihoon can’t help but stare and stare and stare. There’s strong determination in Seungcheol’s posture as he rubs his face and mouth against the cucumber. Seungcheol is competitive; it’s not misplaced. But the shape of that cucumber is just so distracting. It is just _so_ fucking dick-shaped.

When Seungcheol grabs Hansol’s jaw and adjusts Hansol’s head, Jihoon’s brain pops and fizzles and he forgets what they’re doing and where they are. Is Seungcheol trying to eat the cucumber now? Is he going to put it inside of his mouth? Is it going between his lips? What’s happening?

Heat flares in Jihoon’s chest. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling; he’s always just chalked it up to hormones. And while he doesn’t think that’s an unreasonable guess, this feeling in particular is always associated with Seungcheol.

When Seungcheol does close his mouth over the end of that dick-shaped cucumber, his cheeks hollow just a little. His lips are full and red, and he’s got a strong, commanding hand over the column of Hansol’s throat.

Even the shrill cries from the crowd fail to drag Jihoon’s head out of the gutter, but he’s finding that he’s pretty okay with that.

Eventually, they run out of time and they have to guess what it is. The show is over. Jihoon begins to feel his soul slowly return to his body.

This fanmeeting continues and it’s a wild, wild ride.

 

* * *

 

On the way back to the dorm, Jihoon can’t help but throw Seungcheol glance after glance after glance. He’s not being subtle and he knows it; he just can’t help it.

Seungcheol heaves an exaggerated sigh. “What is it, Jihoon-ah?” he asks, just short of rolling his eyes.

“‘No words needed’, huh?” Jihoon asks. There’s a twist of a grin on his face, like he’s unsure if he’s amused or annoyed.

“I mean, it’s true,” Seungcheol replies with a shrug.

During the fanmeeting, there had been “anonymous” messages written by some members for other members. It’d been another guessing game; in Jihoon and Seungcheol’s case, it was something more of a reflection, a repetition.

The beginnings of their conversation trail off and die before they can really sprout. Jihoon doesn’t mind; it’s par for the course as far things go for them. It’s not uncomfortable, but saying that it’s comfortable seems a bit generous.

As they toe off their shoes by the door, Seungcheol takes the opportunity to throw a couple looks Jihoon’s way. Each time their eyes meet, Jihoon lifts his eyebrows, and Seungcheol snorts every time.

“Jihoon-ah,” Seungcheol starts, “remember when you said I had ‘a girl’s heart’?”

Jihoon makes a choked noise.

“Listen, I was put on the spot, and—”

Seungcheol pats Jihoon’s shoulder, cutting him off.

“I’m just saying,” Seungcheol says. “I think it’s rich, coming from you.”

Jihoon’s eyebrows shoot up again. “Yeah?”

This time, it’s Seungcheol’s turn to crack a wry grin.

“Yeah,” Seungcheol replies. “Remember how you cried during Smile Flower?”

Immediately, Jihoon flushes. “I remember, yes.”

Seungcheol nods to himself like he’s already won.

“I think that says enough, doesn’t it?”

Jihoon is quiet as they stand in the foyer of the dorm. He catches Seungcheol’s eye as he starts to walk past him, and he follows Seungcheol into the next room without saying anything.

Smile Flower means a lot to Jihoon. Seungcheol understands that. Each of the members understands that. Jihoon doesn’t think he can truly, fully express what the lyrics mean to him personally, and he wouldn’t even dream about trying—but it’s jarring to put the significance of that song in this context.

Maybe it shouldn’t be. When Jihoon said he thinks Seungcheol has ‘a girl’s heart’, it was meant to be vague, though it wasn’t untrue. It means a multitude of things, much like the lyrics to Smile Flower and performing it for the people who gave him the opportunity in the first place.

And he means both the members of SEVENTEEN and their fans.

They walk through the halls of the dorm. The other members’ voices travel along the walls, through the floorboards, disjointed yet complete lines of communication that wrap around Jihoon like threads of a warm and worn sweater. It’s familiar and good, but at the same time, Jihoon finds himself falling into Seungcheol’s gravity as they make their way to their shared room.

The room is empty. When Seungcheol sinks into the bed across from Jihoon’s, it seems like he’s going to drift off without taking off his makeup or his outside clothes. However, he releases a sigh from the pits of his diaphragm and catches Jihoon’s gaze again.

“I guess you never said that you didn’t have a girl’s heart, too,” Seungcheol points out.

Jihoon snorts. “I guess we must have that in common then, huh,” he mutters in reply.

Quiet falls upon them once more. Jihoon sits on the edge of his bed and balances his elbows on his knees. He can hear the regular sound of Seungcheol’s breathing, but the rhythm of it means that he’s not asleep yet.

The fact that Jihoon knows that sound like the back of his hand is comforting, in his heart of hearts. It’s comforting that he’s known Seungcheol for this long and can always count on him to be a constant in his life. Consistency is hard to come by, and perhaps isn’t truly attainable depending on how you look at it, but Seungcheol’s familiar presence is as pretty damn close to consistency as Jihoon thinks he can get.

Just that thought alone reminds Jihoon that he is, indeed, softhearted.

Looking at Seungcheol and remembering how he felt while performing Smile Flower is enough to remind him that being softhearted isn’t such a bad thing.

 

* * *

 

The Smile Flower video comes out about a month after the fanmeeting. It’s a sentimental thing, as it’s meant to be. As far as a tribute to the fans goes, Jihoon thinks it’s touching.

His eyes prickle when the predebut shots come up, but he thinks that’s to be expected.

Sometime late at night, something godawful like 3am, Seungcheol comes into the practice room Jihoon’s got his ass rooted in. The sound of the door creaking open is immense in the late-night quiet and Jihoon looks up immediately.

Seungcheol walks in carrying his laptop like a baby. Music spills from its speakers. It takes Jihoon only a few seconds to recognize Smile Flower’s melody.

“Giving us views, huh?” Jihoon asks. His voice comes out cracked from disuse; it’s been some hours since he last opened his mouth.

Seungcheol doesn’t say anything as he plops into the chair next to Jihoon’s. He sets the laptop down and pushes away whatever Jihoon had been working on previously.

“The black and white’s a little cheesy, huh,” Jihoon observes. He leans back in his chair and feels Seungcheol’s arm draped over top of it, feeding him some body heat. It’s comfortable.

Again, Seungcheol doesn’t say anything. He seems engrossed in the footage.

They both laugh when the clip of Mingyu and Jeonghan with the food plays. When the shot of Seungcheol on a hotel bed comes up, Jihoon points at the screen.

“Who’s that ugly fucker?” Jihoon asks.

Scoffing, Seungcheol lightly shoves at Jihoon’s head.

There’s a shot of Jihoon with Seungkwan and Seungcheol points at the screen.

“Who’s that fucking midget?” he fires back.

Jihoon elbows Seungcheol in his side. They’re both holding back laughter.

Then the predebut clips start to play. They both go very still and quiet, their soft breathing drowned out by the music.

“Oh god,” Seungcheol mutters as the clip of him receiving his ring plays.

Jihoon shoots him a look. There are no tears this time, but Seungcheol’s shoulders are tense.

“Look at how fucking terrible Soonyoung’s hair looks here,” Jihoon says quietly, pointing again.

Seungcheol gives a watery laugh.

Only when the shot of their rings comes up does Jihoon realize he’s been spinning his around on his pinky. He stops for a second, but the comforting weight of it wins out and he continues to rotate it.

Seungcheol doesn’t look at Jihoon when he speaks: “When you wrote this… when you were out there fucking bawling on stage… what were you thinking?”

He sounds genuinely curious. His words are clear, despite whatever might be happening in his sinuses right now, but he keeps his voice low, refusing to breach the level of quiet settled over their shoulders.

“I don’t know—” Jihoon starts.

He doesn’t have to answer this. He doesn’t even know if he can.

“Just, like—you know I’m not, like… the kindest person in the world,” Jihoon mutters, unsure of where he’s going with this, “or the most considerate, or whatever. And sometimes we won’t always get along, or we’ll have other responsibilities to attend to, sometimes far away. So, like—if the worst happens, and we’re ever apart… I don’t want any of us to think back on all we’ve been through with any regret.”

For a minute or two, Jihoon doesn’t look at Seungcheol. He can’t.

After all this time, after years past, Jihoon has more confidence that they’ve moved on from whatever happened during their debut project. Dynamics between them are always changing; such is the nature of life. Time has allowed them to come to terms with this fact more easily.

They are no longer simply hyung and dongsaeng; they are no longer simply trainees in that green practice room. They are leaders with responsibilities. They’re artists of their own right; they’ve got fans to appease and trends to follow and goals to achieve. They are more than just Seungcheol and Jihoon now: they are also S.Coups and Woozi, and they are also part of SEVENTEEN.

When Jihoon finally looks up at Seungcheol, he finds Seungcheol staring right down at him.

“God…” Seungcheol murmurs. The word hangs in the air for a second. Then a smile curls Seungcheol’s lips as he adds, “you’re a fucking sap.”

Jihoon elbows him again. Just as he makes contact, Seungcheol makes a yelping-growling sort of noise and snakes his arms around Jihoon’s middle. Jihoon shrieks in kind as he’s pulled into Seungcheol’s lap.

“It’s such a good song!” Seungcheol exclaims, sounding somewhere in between annoyed and dreamy. He buries his face into the back of Jihoon’s neck.

At the mercy of his hyung, Jihoon flounders. He squirms and tries to adjust his body so his ass is on the soft part of Seungcheol’s thighs and not his bad knees.

“Um—” Jihoon says after a while. “—Thanks.”

With a snuffling laugh, Seungcheol tightens his hold. Jihoon stops fidgeting once his back sinks into the supporting curl of Seungcheol’s chest and stomach. They fit together well; their size difference lends to the composition of their two bodies together.

Jihoon can feel Seungcheol’s heart beating against his shoulder-blade and it’s soothing. The heat around him is a safety blanket and the press of Seungcheol’s palms against his stomach is not quite a cage, but a brace.

In that moment, he feels lucky. Privileged. Part of him doesn’t think he deserves Seugncheol’s steady support, but he sure is thankful for it.

Maybe one day he’ll actually say it out loud.

 

* * *

 

The flight from Seoul to L.A. is about thirteen hours, give or take. Jihoon plans to spend the entire flight sleeping if he can manage it.

Seungcheol’s biting his fingers as he stares up at the flight schedule. Minghao’s hovering by his side, a hand ghosting over the small of Seungcheol’s back, always such a ready and willing source of support.

It’s funny to Jihoon that Seungcheol can be nervous about something they do so often—maybe more endearing than funny, really.

Jihoon turns away from Seungcheol and almost walks straight into Seungkwan.

“Distracted, hyung?” Seungkwan asks. He reaches out and takes Jihoon’s wrist into his hand before playing with the ends of his sleeves.

Jihoon looks down at where their hands are connected. He shakes his head. “Nah,” he says, “just thinking about what to do on the flight.”

Seungkwan snorts. “You say that like you’ll do anything but sleep,” he replies. He looks up from Jihoon’s sleeve and over his shoulder. A smile pulls at the corners of his lips. “Seungcheol-hyung looks nervous as always.”

Rolling his eyes, Jihoon mutters, “he’s just a big baby.”

Seungkwan grins. There’s a knowing look about it, like Jihoon’s just said something cute and deserves a treat in response. For a second, Jihoon thinks Seungkwan is going to pinch his cheek, but then Soonyoung comes jogging up to them.

He thrusts a bottle between Jihoon and Seungkwan.

“Look!” Soonyoung says. “They’ve got my favourite flavour of Milkis here.”

“They’ve got melon?” Seungkwan gasps. He grabs Soonyoung’s arm and lifts it to get a better look at the bottle. “Where did you get that?”

They make a ruckus as they go over to the vending machine with said beverage. Jihoon stands there and watches their retreating backs.

Relief washes over Jihoon’s body. Distracted, maybe. But his members are always a welcome distraction from his wayward thoughts.

Minghao’s shoulder brushes Jihoon’s as he and Seungcheol walk past, headed towards the seats by their gate. Maybe at some point of their lives, Jihoon had been the one to provide that comfort. But he’s learned that he doesn’t always have to be that person, and that that reality doesn’t change anything between the two of them. They are a unit of thirteen, after all.

He’s not Seungcheol’s keeper, and Seungcheol isn’t his. The thought fizzles to static as he turns his attention back to Soonyoung and Seungkwan and he decides he wants some Milkis, too.

 

L.A. is pretty damn big. Bigger than Seoul, maybe, in terms of area, but definitely not in terms of people. And it is fucking _hot._

Some part of Jihoon regrets the all-black ensemble he’s got on, but at this point, he’s committed.

They don’t go to their hotels right away; they’ve still got some time before check-in. They stop by some renowned fast food place, and who is Jihoon to say no to a burger?

Mingyu is really pulling out all the stops for this tourist thing. Minghao’s taking the pics while Seokmin dances around beside him.

“Are you sure this is gonna be okay with my diet?” Soonyoung asks a manager. His hands are wrapped tight around his burger, and Jihoon knows he really wants to eat it, but he wants approval first.

“If you don’t want to eat the whole thing,” Jihoon cuts in, “you can give me half.”

Soonyoung rolls his eyes. “Fuck off, get your own burger,” he sneers. He sits up and opens up the distance between their bodies. The electricity in his eyes sparks.

The manager he’d asked laughs and pats Soonyoung on the head. Soonyoung opens the wrapping vehemently before taking a big bite. As he chews, he lets out an exaggerated moan, and somehow, Seungkwan appears from nowhere and smacks the back of his head.

“Don’t be so fucking inappropriate,” Seungkwan admonishes him.

“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want,” Soonyoung snaps back, his mouth still full.

Both Jihoon and Seungkwan flinch when bits of food go flying. Soonyoung has the decency to look sheepish, at least.

Seungcheol slides onto the bench at which Jihoon is seated and stops only when their sides are pressed flush against each other. Their body heat compounds each other’s like this, but neither of them make a move to separate.

“The sky is so clear over here,” Seungcheol comments. “And there are palm trees, like, everywhere.”

“You’ve probably seen, like, two,” Jihoon retorts.

“That’s still a lot!”

“What, they don’t have palm trees in Daegu?”

“You know I haven’t been back home in a while, Jihoon.”

That makes Jihoon relent: he nods and drops it. He picks up his box of french fries and offers it to Seungcheol in a silent apology.

Seungcheol takes some without hesitating. In return, he offers Jihoon some of his milkshake, and Jihoon happily partakes. Some liquid comes out of the straw when Seungcheol takes it back a little too early, and Jihoon leans forward to lick it off Seungcheol’s thumb.

Just as he’s about to open his mouth, he flits his eyes upwards and finds Seungcheol’s eyes bearing down on him much like the hot afternoon sun above them.

Jihoon swallows and sits up. Seungcheol’s side against his is starting to feel a little too hot.

Seungcheol maintains eye contact as he licks the milkshake from his hand instead.

Seungkwan clears his throat a little. When both Seungcheol and Jihoon look up at him, he immediately looks off to the side and takes a sip of his cola.

“What flavour milkshake did you get, hyung?” Soonyoung asks. This time, his mouth is clear of food. There is a tiny bit of sauce on the corner of his mouth, though.

Seungcheol and Jihoon motion to their lips at the same time. Soonyoung gives them a questioning look.

“What?” he asks.

“You got something,” Seungcheol says, gesturing again.

Sighing, Seungkwan comes in with a napkin. The way he fusses over Soonyoung and the way Soonyoung resists a little serves as a welcome distraction from whatever the hell just passed between Jihoon and Seungcheol.

This is going to be a long trip.

 

* * *

 

Of course they’re rooming together. It’s nice, actually; it’s kind of like taking a piece of home with them, since they room together back at the dorm.

Jihoon’s on his back with his legs sprawled out and his phone held above his head. He’s got one earbud in and the other lying across his pillow.

“Did you see this vlive just now?” he asks. He knows Seungcheol’s within earshot, but he’s just not sure where exactly. He’d stopped paying attention when the broadcast started. “God, Chan goes so overboard during broadcasts.”

No response. Jihoon sighs and puts his phone down. It’s late—where the hell did Seungcheol run off to?

The other earbud falls out of his head as he sits up. He’s glad—he’s sure he would have ripped it right out with the way his body jerks when he finally finds Seungcheol.

“Were you talking to me?” Seungcheol asks, walking out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his hips. He rubs at his neck with another towel, chasing drops of water as they slide across his skin.

Jihoon sputters a little. He’s a fucking idiot; he’s seen Seungcheol in less and on more occasions than he can count on his hands and feet.

Maybe it’s the fact that they’re in this hotel room alone. The yellow light from a floor lamp casts unflattering shadows over the lines of Seungcheol’s face, painting him a little gaunt from his recent weight loss, and he’s probably making a mess all over the carpet, and yet Jihoon’s head is spinning and his chest is tight and hot.

It takes a couple seconds for him to find his tongue.

“Chan,” he chokes out. A couple more seconds pass before he motions at his phone with a stiff hand. “He was fucking screaming on this vlive broadcast they just did.”

Chuckling, Seungcheol goes over to his bedside table to look at his phone. “Looks like Seungkwan just got up from a nap and he’s already giving Chan shit about it in the group chat,” he says. His belly shakes with his contained laughter as he scrolls through the messenger.

Jihoon watches every little movement that ripples through Seungcheol’s body and hates himself a little as he does it. He watches as the lines of Seungcheol’s muscles deepen and darken with tension, the way the moisture makes his skin shine, the way the hard-edged planes of his body meet and slot together to compose the man standing so close to him and yet much farther than Jihoon’s body seems fit.

When Seungcheol looks up again, Jihoon puts a considerable amount of effort into keeping his expression blank. The light reflected in Seungcheol’s eyes seems too bright, though; Jihoon feels like fragile, transparent glass under the weight of that stare.

“You should wash up, too,” Seungcheol says. His voice is as soft as the mop of wet hair atop his head. “We had a long flight.”

Jihoon wants to roll his eyes; he wants to protest for the hell of it and say something along the lines of “not all of us want to immediately wash off whatever motion sickness we had on a plane as soon as we got off”, or something childish like that. Something that would put his feet back on the ground and take his head out of whatever fantasy land it’s landed in.

But the shower is a good idea: Jihoon is sticky from the Californian heat and his clothes feel caked with dust. Plus, it’s a good excuse to get Seungcheol out of his line of sight for a while, at least long enough to clear his foggy thoughts.

Maybe Seungcheol’s unnerved by his stare. That thought doesn’t last when Jihoon takes another look at him: there’s a smouldering smugness in the corner of Seungcheol’s mouth, lurking in the folds of his lips.

Jihoon nods and pads off to the bathroom. There’s steam curling around the still-wet tiles and the mirror opposite the shower is covered in slowly receding mist. The little smiley face Seungcheol left behind eventually fades into Jihoon’s reflection staring blankly back at him.

He can hear Seungcheol laughing on the other side of the wall. Normally, that sort of thing becomes white noise, but every little sound Seungcheol makes is a roar; it beats out the water crashing against the bathtub, the slide of the shower curtain over the rod, the thump of his heart in his ears.

Jihoon’s imagination bursts through his reins of control and for once, he doesn’t hate himself for it. He thinks about Seungcheol’s lips and his scorching body heat pressed up against him at that fast food place, against his back in the practice room, radiating from his toned body all the way across the room.

Jihoon lets go as water hits his shoulders and his back, and he’s content to let the water wash the thoughts away, along with the physical evidence of his body’s cravings.

This is going to be a long, long trip.

 

* * *

 

The trip is a lot of eating and a lot of sleeping. It’s also a lot of working, but Jihoon expected that and he welcomes it wholly.

He does take breaks. He visits the beach—and that reminds him of Busan a little, which is nice—and even appears on a vlive broadcast. He sees his kids every day, and it’s them who remind him to take breaks to socialize. He supposes it wouldn’t be much of a vacation if he didn’t spend it with his favourite people.

“I want bubble tea,” Seungcheol groans one night. It’s just a bit past 2am and they’re on their way back from their temporary work studio. It’s within walking distance from the hotel, not quite downtown but not far from commercial areas—and, most importantly, bubble tea.

Jihoon’s eyebrows shoot up. “Right now?” he asks.

Seungcheol nods vigorously. Jihoon had no idea Seungcheol had the energy to act like a child at 2am.

Sighing, Jihoon follows Seungcheol back to the studio’s front door. Seungcheol mumbles something about using the wifi for the maps app.

“There’s one twenty minutes from here,” Seungcheol gasps. “Let’s go!”

Jihoon doesn’t get a chance to say anything before Seungcheol turns on his heel and heads down the street. It only takes a few steps to catch up with him, anyway.

Just as he falls into step with Seungcheol, a car speeds past—way too fast for fucking 2am, or for anyone’s well being, if he’s being honest. The gust of wind that blows past makes Jihoon stumble, but Seungcheol’s there to catch him with an arm around his waist.

“‘When you’re walking on the street, baby,’” he recites with a shaky laugh, “it’s dangerous, so walk on the inside.’”

Jihoon blinks up at Seungcheol. A few seconds pass before he’s able to smile back.

Seungcheol moves his hand from Jihoon’s waist and finds his hand instead. With a bit of hesitation, Jihoon curls his hand around Seungcheol’s, and they walk together like that in silence.

Despite the late hour, the city is awake: streetlamps are bright enough to cast short shadows and cars in the distance speak to each other in a low, incomprehensible rumble. The grey, concrete streets are alive under their feet, and it’s exciting and scary all at once.

The hand in his grounds him.

They make it to the bubble tea place in one piece. Seungcheol and Jihoon’s English skills are passable combined, and they get their drinks without much trouble. However, the shop is tiny, sandwiched between a closed clothing store and a cornershop, and the only place to sit is hidden away in the back.

The room is scarcely decorated: the walls are concrete; the floor consists of a few tiles and more concrete; and the furniture is worn plastic. There are a couple picture frames hung up with plastic hooks, crooked like an afterthought.

The main thing that compels them to stay and sit is the chatty employees at the front. Their English is rapid and more energetic than Jihoon would expect from a night shift, and they gesture to the backroom with enthusiasm.

Seungcheol takes a sip of his drink before releasing a satisfied sigh.

“Alright, looks like everything’s in order,” he says. He pauses to take another sip, and when he speaks again, it’s around some boba: “I was afraid they wouldn’t understand us.”

Jihoon nods in agreement as he downs some of his bubble tea. Yep, it tastes just as it should.

“It’s already been a week, but I’m still not used to being here,” Jihoon says. “Like—I’m finally over the jetlag, I think, but it’s still so weird to hear people speaking in English all the time.”

“Yeah,” Seungcheol agrees. “It’s pretty… like, intimidating. But,” he pauses for effect, wagging a finger in Jihoon’s direction, “just like we can’t understand them, they can’t understand us, either.”

Jihoon gives a slow nod. “Yeah, you’re right,” he concedes.

They both stop to enjoy their drinks. Seungcheol always chews on his straws, which sometimes blocks the boba from coming out the top. It’s dumb, but Jihoon always laughs when Seungcheol struggles to suck the boba from the straw.

“It’s kinda funny thinking that I can say whatever and not have them understand me,” Seungcheol comments.

Jihoon lifts his eyebrows. “Yeah? You got something to say about their establishment?” Jihoon gestures at the space around him. “Like how this place is two inches away from being a fucking murder basement?”

“Firstly, no, I’d never say anything like that to their faces, even in Korean,” Seungcheol starts. “Secondly, it can’t be a basement if it’s above ground.”

Jihoon rolls his eyes. “Okay, fine. You got anything else to say, smartass?”

Seungcheol smiles. “Thirdly,” he says, “I love you.”

A couple seconds of silence pass. Jihoon returns his hand to the table.

“What—” Jihoon sputters; there are too many questions going through his head at once. “What?”

“I love you,” Seungcheol says again. He shrugs a little, but he’s still smiling.

It’s weird. Jihoon is expecting this to be some sort of punchline. But Seungcheol’s face is as earnest as ever. His smile is genuine and his shoulders are relaxed.

Jihoon blinks. “Wh—Seungcheol, you know _I_ can still understand you, right?” he asks, probably louder than he should be speaking at 2am and hopefully loud enough to cover the blush rushing to his face.

At that, Seungcheol outright laughs. It’s not quite a full-belly laugh, but he closes his eyes and his lips spread wide above his teeth.

“I know, I know,” Seungcheol says once his laughter dies down. He wipes at the corners of his eyes and keeps them focused on his drink.

“It smells like mouldy water in here,” Seungcheol says after a while. The non sequitur pulls Jihoon back to reality.

“Fucking disgusting, thanks for pointing that out,” Jihoon mutters. He gets to his feet a little too fast; his knees complain, and he supposes it’s a little appropriate, considering his company. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Seungcheol laughs again, but he doesn’t protest as he follows Jihoon out of the shop. They both say bye and thank you at the door.

The nighttime air is cold, but Jihoon’s insides are molten lava. He finishes off his drink a couple blocks down from the shop, and when he reaches over Seungcheol to throw it out at a streetside trash can, Seungcheol curls an arm around his waist. His arm is a perfect fit against the curve of Jihoon’s body.

Jihoon smiles a little to himself.

The city around them is still awake, still clinging to the final dredges of energy floating around the dead of the night. It’s dark, but he can see everything around him; he feels at ease despite the foreign territory, the foreign air, the foreign language all around him.

He feels at ease, he feels safe, and he can thank only one person.

“Hey, Seungcheol?” he asks. His voice passes through the air without a ripple, secure in the little bubble formed around his body and Seungcheol’s.

Seungcheol looks down and smiles back.

“Yeah?”

“You know,” Jihoon says, “I love you, too.”

Seungcheol chuckles. He pulls Jihoon in against his side and his body heat begins to weave threads through Jihoon’s middle.

“I can understand what _you’re_ saying, you know,” Seungcheol replies.

Jihoon laughs.

“Yeah, I know.”

 

* * *

 

Seungcheol throws his phone onto his bed when they finally return to the hotel room. He keeps his head down as he walks over to his bedside, his hands on his hips.

Jihoon walks around him and his steps are careful, light—for whatever reason. Trying to respect the quiet, maybe.

The city beyond their window continues to fight to stay awake. Lights flicker momentarily before holding on strong; they beat out the stars but provide a comfort of their own. The night doesn’t have to end as long as they don’t want it to.

When Jihoon turns, Seungcheol is still looking down at his bed. He’s shed his pullover and it lies in a lump on the foot of his bed. He looks smaller, somehow, but he’s still standing tall.

Jihoon takes a deep breath.

He crosses the room and wraps his arms around Seungcheol’s waist. He can feel the seconds tick one by one as he settles into the embrace—but Seungcheol melts into him without hesitation.

“What happened to ‘no words needed’, huh?” Jihoon murmurs into Seungcheol’s back.

“It felt fitting at the time,” Seungcheol replies easily. He shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess I don’t ever _need_ to tell you I love you, Jihoon, but sometimes I really want to.”

Jihoon inhales sharply, but he can’t find words just yet.

Seungcheol slumps a little, deflating, an animal letting its guard down. He rests his hands atop Jihoon’s settled against his stomach.

“I mean,” Seungcheol adds, “I could ask you the same question.”

Jihoon snorts. A smile pulls at his lips, disbelieving in every sense of the word.

“You’re putting more words to it now than we ever have in, like, six years,” Jihoon retorts.

“My sentiment still stands: I don’t _need_ to say these things, but I still want to.”

The volume of Seungcheol’s voice falls a little, uncertain. Jihoon tightens his grip around Seungcheol’s waist.

Jihoon takes another deep breath. Slowly, he untangles his arms from Seungcheol’s body. Seungcheol folds into himself a little more, but his stomach tenses when Jihoon puts his hands on Seungcheol’s hips instead. Jihoon spins him around until they’re face to face.

“Saying stuff out loud—” Jihoon begins. He’s not sure where he’s going with this. “I’m not good at that.”

“No, you’re much better at writing songs about it,” Seungcheol quips, a slanted grin on his face.

Jihoon purses his lips. He swears it’s not a pout.

“Shut the fuck up and let me talk for a sec,” Jihoon snaps.

Seungcheol puts up his hands.

“What happened to ‘no words needed’?” Seungcheol asks.

Jihoon’s first instinct is to grab Seungcheol’s raised hands. It doesn’t make sense: Seungcheol hasn’t made a single move towards the physical; there’s no need to restrain him.

It’s out of character, but Jihoon wants to be the instigator: it’s his only chance at control.

But when he captures Seungcheol’s wrists in his fingers, Seungcheol’s wide eyes make Jihoon hesitate.

“I can—” Jihoon swallows thickly. “I can _show_ you ‘no words needed’,” he mutters. “Hyung.”

For a few seconds, Jihoon can’t bear to look Seungcheol in the eye. Seungcheol’s wrists are limp, devoid of any thoughts of resistance.

Then Jihoon finally looks up.

Seungcheol’s… blushing. His cheeks are red, the tips of his ears are red. But a slow smile parts his lips.

Suddenly, Jihoon feels very small.

“I’m sure you can,” Seungcheol replies. His voice is low; it crawls lower and lower until it presses between Jihoon’s thighs. “I’m sure you can show me whatever’s been on your mind lately, Jihoonie.”

With gentle movements, Seungcheol slips his hands out of Jihoon’s grasp. He flips their arms so that he’s holding Jihoon instead. Still smiling, he backs onto his bed and sits, pulling Jihoon onto his lap.

Their hands are suspended in the space between their two bodies, a bridge of sorts—Jihoon just needs to cross it.

Jihoon looks up at Seungcheol through his lashes.

“So?” Seungcheol asks on a whisper of a breath.

Jihoon holds Seungcheol’s gaze for a few silent moments. The smile on Seungcheol’s face never fades, acting as a guiding light.

With shaky hands, Jihoon cradles Seungcheol’s jaw. He sweeps his thumbs over Seungcheol’s cheeks a few times, a repetitive, grounding thing. Seungcheol secures his hands around Jihoon’s waist and waits.

The first kiss is just a peck. Jihoon pulls away just as quickly as he presses forward, but Seungcheol chases him before Jihoon can get too far, holds him in place with a hand to the curve of Jihoon’s skull.

For a second, Jihoon feels a fleeting desire to run. This is too much. They can’t just change things like this; they can’t give in to whatever this has been, whatever this thing is that’s built between them over years and years and years of—something.

Love, apparently.

But things are always changing, sometimes for the better, sometimes not. And in the end, in his heart of hearts, this is what Jihoon wants. He wants to be held like this by Seungcheol, to be kissed like this by Seungcheol. He wants to explore this new level with Seungcheol and Seungcheol only.

Seungcheol tugs him in closer using that hand on the back of his head. Jihoon’s breath stutters in his throat as he relents to Seungcheol’s touch.

As Seungcheol tilts his head, he presses closer. He presses his tongue against the seal of Jihoon’s lips and the foreign touch startles Jihoon into obeying.

Throughout the first few moments, Seungcheol is firm but patient. His lips are plush under Jihoon’s and unbearably warm; Jihoon can feel heat pulsing through his veins, molten lava from head to toe. Although he feels ready to burn to ashes at any moment, he’s not afraid: he knows Seungcheol is there to hold him through it.

The thought softens his body and he opens up further, letting Seungcheol deeper inside.

They toss aside their clothes at a leisurely pace. Jihoon glides his fingers over the bumps of Seungcheol’s ribcage and feels a slight frown pull at his lips.

“Don’t worry about that,” Seungcheol whispers. He grabs Jihoon’s wrists and directs them towards his nipples.

“Touch me here instead,” Seungcheol says.

Swallowing, Jihoon nods. His touches are slow at first, timid brushes, but Seungcheol reacts with his entire body: he arches his back and breathes in quick bursts.

“Oh,” Jihoon murmurs. He applies more pressure and Seungcheol clenches his eyes shut.

Soon enough, Seungcheol is a wiggling mess of a man under Jihoon’s thighs. His hands are vices on Jihoon’s hips, but it’s not like Jihoon has plans to go anywhere, especially not with the way Seungcheol’s body comes to life under his fingers like any instrument Jihoon’s played before.

Seungcheol’s hand finds Jihoon’s neck again, and Seungcheol pulls him in for a crushing kiss. There’s desperation there now; it’s hot and fitful against Jihoon’s tongue, but he fights to accommodate it, fights to press his body as close to Seungcheol’s as physically possible.

In a flurry of limbs, Seungcheol flips Jihoon onto his back. He yanks off Jihoon’s pants and underwear in one go.

“I—” Jihoon starts, but he stops when he hears how hoarse his voice sounds. The beginnings of a smile have already bloomed on his face and his rough tone draws a smile out of Seungcheol, too.

“I hope you don’t try to steal my underwear later,” Jihoon says finally, a crooked smile splayed across his face, his reddened cheeks round with mirth.

Seungcheol huffs. He rolls his eyes before leaning down to claim Jihoon’s mouth again, this time with teeth. The message gets through alright, but Jihoon finds himself whining more than anything.

Somewhere along the way, Seungcheol shucks off the rest of his clothes, too. Again, Jihoon’s fingers drift over Seungcheol’s torso, mapping the dips in his skin that have cropped up as a result of his recent weight loss. This time, Seungcheol lets him; with his hands supporting his weight above Jihoon’s, he doesn’t have much of a choice, anyway.

“Don’t worry,” Seungcheol murmurs again.

Jihoon nods. “It’s only temporary,” he says, mostly to himself, but Seungcheol nods his agreement.

It’s only temporary. Things have only so long a lifespan, much like the moments they’ve shared, much like the thoughts that have come and gone through Jihoon’s head. If Seungcheol says not to worry, then he won’t.

“I trust you,” Jihoon adds. He trusts Seungcheol to make good decisions, ultimately.

Seungcheol lifts his eyebrows. Jihoon’s statement is a bit vague and he knows it; they both do. But Seungcheol nods again, so Jihoon thinks he’s off the hook for the time being.

“Good,” Seungcheol whispers. “I’m gonna need you to trust me on this.”

Jihoon exhales a shaky puff of breath as Seungcheol starts to make a path down Jihoon’s body. He kisses Jihoon’s neck, nipping his collarbones as he passes, and leaves a trail of heat over Jihoon’s chest and stomach. He stops to swirl his tongue over Jihoon’s bellybutton, earning him a breathless laugh.

Seungcheol grins. It’s weird juxtaposed next to Jihoon’s erection curved over his stomach. Then again, Jihoon has already decided that absolutely nothing about their relationship is anything approaching conventional.

When Seungcheol slides his tongue over Jihoon’s dick, Jihoon jumps. Seungcheol laughs, and the vibration of it all thrums through Jihoon’s pelvis.

“Don’t laugh,” Jihoon whines. He throws an arm over his eyes and tries to catch his breath, but it’s a fruitless effort: once Seungcheol gets his giggles under control, he closes his mouth over the head of Jihoon’s cock, and the sensation is unlike anything Jihoon has ever felt before. It’s hot and wet and so fucking good.

Jihoon moans and lifts his hips, blindly seeking more. Seungcheol makes a noise, and for a second, Jihoon feels panic poke its head through the haze of pleasure fogging his brain, but soon he realizes that Seungcheol’s enjoying his enthusiasm.

Seungcheol swallows around him, licks up and down his length, makes the most obscene noises Jihoon has ever heard from him. There are no words to describe it; Jihoon’s mind is wiped clean save for the bubbling pleasure building in his pelvis.

“Seung—” Jihoon’s voice hitches. “Cheol,” he groans, “I’m—”

Seungcheol comes off with a pop. He grins, his dimples deep and devious.

“Yeah?” His voice is so deep Jihoon thinks he could probably fall in it and never return. “What’s that? You wanna come?”

At first, Jihoon can’t form words. He whines and chances a look at Seungcheol’s eyes: they’re dark, dark, dark, pupils blown so wide his eyes are nearly black in the yellow lamp light.

“Y-Yes,” Jihoon mumbles. It’s a weak response, but he can’t fight the sheer force of Seungcheol’s dark gaze on him.

Seungcheol hums. He licks another stripe up Jihoon’s cock, making Jihoon shudder with his entire body.

“I wanna come as well,” he says, an offhand statement.

Slowly, Jihoon sits up. Seungcheol watches him the entire time.

“I—” Jihoon clears his throat when his voice fails to take shape in the air. “I want you to, too.”

A crooked grin claims Seungcheol’s lips. It stays on his face as he crawls up Jihoon’s body and settles between his thighs. His matching erection is heavy and hot against the crease of Jihoon’s thigh, and Jihoon can’t help but twitch his hips up, searching.

“So—what do you wanna do, Jihoonie?” Seungcheol asks. His chin is in his hand, his elbow planted next to Jihoon’s shoulder.

Jihoon turns his head so he’s eye level with Seungcheol. His eyes trace a path over Seungcheol’s face, starting from the mop of hair hanging over his forehead down to the slope of his nose down to the jut of his chin.

Jihoon leans in and kisses him, just because he can. Seungcheol receives him warmly, supplying him with soft, leisurely kisses.

“I’ll do whatever you want me to, hyung,” Jihoon whispers eventually, his lips brushing against Seungcheol’s.

Seungcheol hums again.

“Wait a sec,” he tells Jihoon. He gets to his feet with some effort, his knees creaking.

Something warm flutters in Jihoon’s chest. It’s not apprehension, not in any sense of the word. It’s warm and soft and sweet, milk and honey in the back of his tongue, flowers wrapped around his rapidly beating heart.

Seungcheol returns with a plastic container filled with something white.

“Please tell me you don’t plan to moisturize my ass or something,” Jihoon quips.

“Well, I mean—is that not the purpose of lube?” Seungcheol replies, easy as can be.

He takes a seat on the bed and opens the container.

“Coconut oil?” Jihoon asks. “So you really _are_ gonna moisturize my ass.”

“It’s either this or I put my clothes back on and try to buy lube from a convenience store or something,” Seungcheol says. “I guess it wouldn’t be as embarrassing if I couldn’t understand whatever the cashier must be saying about it, but I wouldn’t want to get lost and die out there.”

“You saying I’m not worth it?”

Seungcheol looks up. Jihoon grins.

“Wait ‘til I actually put my dick in you,” Seungcheol replies flatly. “Then I’ll know.”

Jihoon collapses onto his back laughing.

Seungcheol follows him and settles between his thighs again. He licks some life back into Jihoon’s cock, and it’s not long before Jihoon forgets why he was laughing in the first place. Jihoon nearly forgets his own name with the way Seungcheol’s handling him.

Reality taps on Jihoon’s nose when Seungcheol starts to spread the lube over his asshole. His fingers are warm and slick; the most jarring thing about it is the sweet smell.

“Relax, Jihoonie,” Seungcheol murmurs.

Jihoon swallows, trying to wet his throat. “I trust you,” he manages to say.

That’s enough to pull a smile onto Seungcheol’s face. Seungcheol presses a couple of kisses to the inside of Jihoon’s thigh, and it’s almost enough to distract Jihoon from what’s going on—that is, until Seungcheol starts to ease a finger in.

For the next while, Jihoon focuses on relaxing. Seungcheol talks him through it, calls him beautiful, calls him his good boy, and soon enough, Jihoon begins to open up.

“Oh—fuck—” Jihoon gasps.

Seungcheol presses something in him and he sees fucking stars.

“Oh, fuck—please—again,” Jihoon moans, arching his back, seeking more.

Seungcheol stretches him out, taking his time, watching Jihoon with a hawk eye. His lips curl into a predatory smirk; Jihoon can only pant out in response.

“You want more, Jihoonie?” Seungcheol asks. His voice is impossibly deep.

Jihoon nods. He doesn’t have enough breath for words.

Seungcheol’s face breaks out into a grin before he presses it against Jihoon’s mouth, stealing what little air was left in his lungs.

The slick sound of Seungcheol preparing his cock bounces around the room. Jihoon opens his legs as far as they’ll go.

When Seungcheol starts to press in, Jihoon hisses and reaches out blindly. He finds Seungcheol’s shoulders, so solid and so strong under his touch, and he curls his fingers in until his knuckles go white.

“So good for me, Jihoon,” Seungcheol groans into Jihoon’s neck. “You’re doing so good, you’re so good—”

Seungcheol’s voice veers off into a moan as he bottoms out. His back trembles under Jihoon’s hands and his thighs shake against Jihoon’s hips.

“I’m good,” Jihoon says, his voice just barely above a whisper.

With Seungcheol’s face like this, tight with concentration and pleasure, Jihoon doesn’t think he could deny Seungcheol anything.

When Seungcheol starts to pull out, the friction leaves Jihoon gasping. Seungcheol is so slow and so cautious, it’s tortuous—Jihoon feels drawn taut, his breath trapped in the confines of his chest.

“Please—” Jihoon whispers.

That’s enough to bring Seungcheol back to reality: he exhales quick and deep before finally, finally moving forward again.

“Ah, fuck,” Jihoon moans, dizzy from the slick slide of skin on skin, the friction, the foreign pleasure diffusing through his bones. “Fuck, Seungcheol—yes, fuck—”

His curses make up for the silence from Seungcheol’s end. It’s almost frustrating once Jihoon starts to notice it; with newfound resolve, Jihoon starts to move in response to Seungcheol’s thrusts, tries to match him.

The new angle wrenches moans from both of them. Jihoon’s eyes fly wide open as he tries to catch his breath.

“Fuck, yes, Jihoon,” Seungcheol growls. He shifts his weight and pins down Jihoon’s hips with one hand, holding him just so.

Then he begins to fuck with abandon—and it’s so, so, _so_ fucking good, Jihoon nearly screams. Seungcheol hits his sweet spot right on the head over and over, yanking Jihoon right to the edge of his orgasm.

“Yes, Seungcheol! Yes, please, fuck—” he cries, nearly sobbing now. His brain is absolute mush now, barely held together with threads of desperation. “Please, more, there, right there!”

It’s not long before Jihoon comes, shooting ropes of white between their bodies. As he twitches through it, Seungcheol loses his rhythm and bucks wildly until he’s filling Jihoon with his hot come.

Jihoon lifts a hand, shaky and clumsy but well-meaning, and knocks some hair out of Seungcheol’s eyes. Seungcheol looks up at him and grins so, so widely.

They share a few easy kisses as they come down from their high. A couple minutes pass before Seungcheol pulls out and rolls out of the mess.

“Let’s sleep in my bed,” Jihoon mutters. “Gross here.”

“Sure,” Seungcheol mumbles in reply. “You’re gonna have to move me, though.”

Jihoon scoffs. “Fat chance. Sleep in your mess if you want.”

Seungcheol whines something incomprehensible and buries his face in Jihoon’s shoulder. Jihoon doesn’t say anything; he wraps both arms around Seungcheol’s neck and closes his eyes.

They’re both drifting off when Seungcheol’s phone buzzes. It’s right under Jihoon’s calf, and he nearly knees Seungcheol in the stomach when he feels it.

“Fuck—chill out,” Seungcheol grumbles. He bends over to snatch it from under Jihoon’s leg.

Sighing, Seungcheol reaches out to put it on his nightstand, but it buzzes again before he can set it down. The screen lights up with a notification preview.

“Oh, shit,” Seungcheol says.

Jihoon cracks his eyes open. He turns his head enough to read the message before it fades as Seungcheol’s phone locks again.

“Oh—shit,” Jihoon says.

They both turn to look at each other. When their wide eyes meet, they stare at each other in silence for a few seconds. Then they burst into laughter, clutching at each other for stability.

Minghao, their closest neighbour, is threatening to expose them to the group chat—but he says he can be bought.

Jihoon doesn’t think a secret, exclusive, limitless barbecue night with the three of them is a steep price to pay, all things considered.

 

* * *

 

When Seungcheol comes in from shooting footage for his teaser, Jihoon’s there to welcome him. He shivers as he steps through the door.

“God, the AC is so high in here,” he mutters.

“Is it not a relief?” Jihoon asks.

Seungcheol shrugs. He steps in closer to Jihoon, and their sides slot together like puzzle pieces.

“Well, kinda,” Seungcheol concedes. “If anything, the indoor lighting is a fucking relief.”

“The sun is a deadly laser, after all.”

They giggle at that.

Jihoon leads Seungcheol farther into the building with the intention of procuring some snacks, hopefully some water. When Jihoon reaches for Seungcheol’s hand, however, Seungcheol stops him.

“Hold on,” Seungcheol says. “I’ve got marker on that hand. It’s running since I’m sweating like a fucking pig.”

Jihoon snorts. He walks over to Seungcheol’s other side and takes that hand instead.

When they get to the refreshments room, it’s surprisingly empty. There aren’t any staff inside or any of their members.

Which is good, since Seungcheol is apparently in the mood to be cuddly. He drops his weight in a chair close to the table and yanks Jihoon into his lap. It’s a familiar gesture, all things considered, but with the new (?) nature of their relationship, Jihoon can’t help but feel paranoid about flaunting their closeness.

Jihoon doesn’t protest, though. He’s content to watch Seungcheol eat and he even hands him some snacks that are out of his reach.

Eventually, Seungcheol rests his head on Jihoon’s shoulder and opens his hand in front of Jihoon’s face.

“4643,” Jihoon reads aloud.

“It kinda looks like part of a phone number,” Seungcheol says, tilting his head.

“Okay,” Jihoon replies slowly. “So?”

“So—I’m just saying, okay?”

Jihoon chuckles. He traces the number with his index finger and smudges ink all around Seungcheol’s palm.

“Good job,” Seungcheol drawls.

Jihoon twists in Seungcheol’s lap and wipes off the ink on his nose. Seungcheol tries to look down at it and pulls an exaggerated, cross-eyed expression; unfortunately, it’s stupid enough that Jihoon laughs with his entire torso.

“You think it’s a lucky number?” Seungcheol asks eventually, having returned his chin to Jihoon’s shoulder. The ink on his palm has finally dried, but it’s only a shadow of a mark now.

Jihoon shrugs and feels Seungcheol move with him. “Sure, why not?”

“You’re a pain in the ass.”

“That’s a sex joke in the works, you know.”

Seungcheol makes a noise in the back of his throat, something caught between laughter and disbelief.

“‘In the works’,” Seungcheol repeats. “Remind me to go to a drug store or something later.”

“Oh?” Jihoon says, quirking an eyebrow.

Seungcheol only waggles his eyebrows in return. Jihoon giggles and slaps Seungcheol’s chest a little.

“I guess we christened our relationship overseas, huh,” he says. “That’s pretty classy.”

“Is it?”

“Well, I think it is.”

Jihoon lifts his chin and sniffs. Seungcheol laughs again before taking the opportunity to tuck his head under Jihoon’s chin.

“How about this,” Jihoon says, his voice bouncing between both their chests. “It’s lucky since it’s _our_ number.”

Humming, Seungcheol gives a nod. “Sounds right,” he states. “After all, you’ve brought me nothing but luck since I met you.”

Jihoon scoffs. “Is that so?”

Seungcheol nods again. “Yep. I mean, who’s the one filming comeback footage in L.A. for god’s sake? I wouldn’t be here without you.”

At first, Jihoon can’t think of a good response. Air whistles between his teeth as he lets out a long exhale, and Seungcheol squeezes him as he deflates.

“I guess,” Jihoon acquiesces eventually. “But I wouldn’t be here without you, either.”

Seungcheol pulls back and Jihoon’s back slumps without the extra support. From his perch in Seugncheol’s lap, he’s about eye-level with him, despite their size difference.

“So that’s that, then. 4643 is our lucky number since we wouldn’t have gotten this far without each other.”

A smile pulls at Jihoon’s lips. “Yeah?” he asks, mostly for the hell of it.

Seungcheol rolls his eyes. “Yes, Jihoonie.” He squeezes Jihoon’s middle with a little more force than necessary. “Do you disagree?”

Jihoon shakes his head. “No, Seungcheollie. Sounds simple enough.”

The word ‘simple’ gets Seungcheol to give him the stink eye; Jihoon laughs and reaches out to curl his fingers over Seungcheol’s temple.

“You do know I like it simple,” Jihoon points out.

It’s when Seungcheol starts to sing that Jihoon finally gives in and kisses him. This is not their first kiss—Jihoon doesn’t want to think about what counts as their ‘first kiss’ at this point—but it still feels new; it still feels a little hesitant yet reassuring at the same time. It feels like so much all at once, but Jihoon knows they’ll have it figured out eventually.

That is, after all, what they’re good at. And they’ll continue to figure each other out, feel each other out, adjust and reconcile over and over as time transforms them both. It’s something they’ve come to accept—stubbornness at its core, maybe.

But Jihoon doesn’t regret a moment of it.


End file.
